


And you will bow, boldly.

by NoPitSoDeep



Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Daemon Feels, Daemon torture isn't fun, Daemons, M/M, Poor Tony, daemon AU, sorry - Freeform, stony only mentioned but it's there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:14:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoPitSoDeep/pseuds/NoPitSoDeep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony and his daemon, Jarvis, get kidnapped. </p><p>It's not fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And you will bow, boldly.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Blame, by Right Away, Great Captain. 
> 
> Reviews are love. 
> 
> Companion to my other fic, Each Time You Get Hurt (I Don't Want You To Change), but very stand-alone.

The first thing he notices is that Jarvis is not with him. He is instantly aware that, no, bad, no, not okay. He looks around, noting the confines of the dirty cell he's being kept in, the concrete walls, the camera in the corner, and is suddenly reminded of a cave in a desert that he would rather not think about. 

"Jarvis?" Tony hisses, slowly standing up, and beginning to walk around the room. There is a bed, a wooden crate serving as a table, and a pot in the corner he doesn't want to dwell on, and that's about it. "Jarvis, where are you?" 

"In here." Comes the petulant reply, echoing from the crate next to the bed. Tony rushes over, and immediately opens it up, reaching inside and allowing the giant snake to slide up over his arms and around his neck, tongue flicking out periodically over exposed skin. The billionaire strokes his fingers gently over the back of his daemon's head, closing his eyes for a moment. 

"Where are we?" Jarvis asks, nudging his snout against Tony's cheek. He shakes his head.  
"I don't know."

[*]

They ascertain that the proverbial bad guys have taken Tony's phone, watch, pen, shirt, and shoes, leaving him, seemingly, with only the arc reactor, and his jeans. Jarvis mutters something about idiot billionaires who don't make trackers for their pants, and Tony swats him in the head. 

[*]

A day later, they come for them. Men in masks who smell a little less flowery than is generally acceptable and who apparently have no regard for politeness grab Tony and drag him away, with Jarvis hanging around his neck. He's shoved into a straight-backed chair, and they tie him to it, first his arms, behind his back, and then his legs, to those of the chair, which, Tony realizes, is bolted to the floor. 

All of this is fine. 

Then, it happens. 

Too quick for either of them to react, Jarvis is ripped away from Tony, large, sweaty hands closing around his middle, and tugging him off of the billionaire in one awful, heart-wrenching movement. Jarvis thrashes wildly against the grip, fangs snapping and spitting poison out over his captors faces, while Tony struggles against his bonds, grinding his teeth against the foreign, completely /wrong/ sensation in his chest. 

"Let him go." He grits out, straining against the ties on his wrists as he pulls at them. "Stop it, please, stop it, let him go--" 

A punch is landed across his cheek, and he breaks off, swearing softly under his breath. 

Tony can only watch, helpless, as Jarvis is strapped down on a long, long metal table. His body is far too long to actually be spread out, but the men take his rapidly weakening form, and tie him down on the table legs, ignoring the whimpers of discomfort and pain Tony is making. 

Once the job is done, the hands are gone, and immediately, Tony can breathe again.  
"Jar? Jar, are you alright?" The snake shifts his head slightly to look Tony in the eye, and nods, flicking out his tongue. 

"Not for very long, I'm afraid, Mr. Stark." The voice that speaks is deep, and accented, something vaguely French or middle-eastern, and Tony's head jerks up. A man is walking toward the table, clad in a white polo shirt and cackles (were he not already worrying about the other half of his soul being strapped to a table, Tony would probably comment on how tacky the outfit is). He stops just in front of the table, and looks down at Jarvis, shaking his head. "Quite the phenomenon, is it not? A daemon the same gender as its human?" The man's little, black scorpion daemon crawls down his arm, and on to the table, stopping millimeters away from Jarvis. Tony just stares, wide-eye at the man, keeping stock-still, and vigilant, because no, this is not the first time this has happened. 

Tony vividly recalls the first time someone touched Jarvis. Howard was drunk, his ocelot daemon trailing slowly behind him, and Tony was too young to understand why he should get away when his father got like this. That was a mistake. Howard had grabbed Jarvis by the scruff of his neck, and pinned him to a table in his lab, examining him for what felt like hours before he threw the rapidly shifting creature down on the floor near where Tony was curled, being kept still by Meridia's persistent growling. 

Now, though. Now, the man in front of the table has picked up a knife, which he twirls idly in his hand. Tony swallows thickly, and his eyes, if possible, widen.

"You truly are a freak of nature, Mr. Stark." He purrs, slowly moving the scalpel down to trace it over Jarvis' stomach. Tony squirms, while Jarvis stays eerily still, not moving a muscle as the flat edge of the metal slides down his scales. "A message must be sent to your friends, no? A message that you are not so worthy company to keep?" Tony's heard about these people before. People who think those born with strange daemons are abominations. Kids who settle too early, adults who settle too late, and those like Tony, whose daemons are exactly like them. 

Without warning, the knife turns, and slides into Jarvis' flesh, slicing a thin, shallow line down his side. 

Tony can barely hear himself screaming. 

[*]

It continues like this for days. 

They do not leave that room. Periodically they are left alone for a few hours, Tony still tied to the chair, Jarvis still resolutely attached to the table. Tony will fall into a soft slumber while Jarvis whispers soft encouragements across to him, but he is always woken up before long. 

On the tenth day, they bring in the barrel of water. 

Tony's tears stream down his cheeks as Jarvis is shoved under the surface, and held there, jerking his body wildly against the hands closed around him. Tony tries desperately to break free, the feeling of ghost water in his lungs, of hands that are not there gripping him too tight making him sob in agony. He screams Jarvis' name at the top of his lungs, pleading, begging, praying to gods he doesn't believe in, until they pull him out again, throwing the snake back on the table. 

Tony doesn't have time to be relieved before the scalpels come out again. 

[*]

He knows he is being filmed, and, were this pain being inflicted upon him, he would keep as quiet as possible, because while he knows the rest of the team has seen him at his worst, he doesn't need them to see him like this. 

But this isn't that. This is Jarvis. This is Jarvis tied down and branded with a hot iron that scalds both of their backs. This is Tony roaring and fighting and craning his body as far forward as it will go in an attempt to get any closer to his daemon. 

This is hell, in every way Tony can define it. 

[*]

It takes them twenty-one days to get bored. 

Twenty-one days to decide that clearly the only way the message will be gotten across is to break Jarvis and Tony's bond. 

He has not touched Jarvis in this entire time, hasn't been allowed to hold him, sleep with him, even talk to him without the pain searing through both their bodies, and he thrashes wildly, shouting and clawing at the men who hold him as he's shoved into a small, dirty chamber across the room from Jarvis. The python hisses wildly, snapping and biting at the hands that move him, but his resolve begins to weaken as his mouth is forcibly clamped shut. Tony's fingers scrabble at the dirty glass that makes up the side of the chamber, and he watches Jarvis throw his entire weight against the glass, relentlessly slamming himself into it in an effort to he free. 

"No. No, god, no, please, Jar, please." He thinks desperately, his shaky breaths fogging up the glass. 

"Tony. Tony, please, get us out, please, please, please." Jarvis sends back, and Tony gasps, tears beginning to fall down his cheeks and drip into his hands. 

"Jarvis, I can't, they can't, I need you, please." Jarvis flicks his tongue out, and hisses again, and Tony slams his fist against the glass. 

He sees them starting the machines, sees the strange, giant blade rising up and he closes his eyes tightly, forcing himself not to looks. 

"Tony, it's coming."

No. 

"It's happening, Tony, please."

No. 

"Tony, I love you, mine, always mine, no matter what, please, Tony." 

Jarvis is babbling, something he never does, and Tony can't open his eyes, can't look, can't watch his soul get torn away from him. 

There's a crash, the sound of glass breaking, and Tony shudders violently in anticipation of the pain. 

The pain, which, somehow, doesn't come. 

More crashing, a few screams, the sickening crunch of what he can only define as a broken neck, and then the door of the grimy little box is opened, and the largest, warmest, most gentle hands he's ever felt are reaching inside, and pulling him out. The fight leaves him as soon as he's no longer in it, as soon as the possibility of breaking the bond is gone, and he goes limp with relief. 

Tony is barely aware of his surroundings as whoever it is folds him up against his chest, and carries him carefully toward the other tiny cell. He hears a bark, and something in the back of his mind says 'Seraphina', in conjunction with 'Steve', but too soon he forgets, because without warning, Jarvis is free. 

In an instant, he's lunging forward, and the python moves at exactly the same time. They crash together, and it's the most desperate they've ever felt, as Jarvis wraps himself tightly around Tony's neck and loops under his arms, and Tony buries his face in the folds of Jarvis's body. They grasp at each other, both breathing heavily through what feels like crushed lungs, Tony's hands holding as gently as he can despite how badly he wants to squeeze the injured snake in his embrace. 

He feels but barely registers Steve's arms around him, holding him from behind while the supersoldier's legs frame his now-prone body on the floor, careful not to even brush Jarvis, and for that, Tony is grateful. 

He doesn't know how long he sits there, in the dark and the wet and the cold, but he does know that he's never letting go. 

Never.


End file.
